


some nights the blood from real cuts feels real nice (when it's really mine)

by ohmcgee



Series: little beasts [53]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, everyone here is fucked up and they're okay with it, move along, seriously, this is not the happy shiny fic you're looking for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all have scars, but Jason likes Tim's the most. Even the ones he doesn't want to ask about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some nights the blood from real cuts feels real nice (when it's really mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Playing again in likewinning's [little beasts verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/271950). 
> 
> written for the "scars/body modification" square on my seasonofkink bingo card

Bruce has lots of scars. Scars from knives, scars from bullet holes, a weird scar from acid burn on the back of his hand, one short one low on his abdomen where he had to have his gallbladder removed. Jason still remembers how high they got off the painkillers the doctor gave him after, how Bruce laughed when he popped his stitches and just kept fucking him, how they had to throw the bloody sheets out afterward they were so ruined.

Tim has scars too. They all do, though Dick’s are mostly from burns, but for some reason Jason always catches himself staring at Tim’s, usually when he’s supposed to be listening to Bruce tell them about their new job. There’s a jagged one on the side of Tim’s neck where some fuckhead came at him with a broken bottle, nearly severed Tim’s fucking carotid artery a few months ago in Brazil. Every time he looks at it he remembers all the blood on Tim’s shirt, on his hands, how Tim smiled up at him, said _you’re always saying red’s my color,_ as Jason held half of his torn off shirt against Tim’s neck.

There’s another one on Tim’s face that he got before they met, right over his left eye where a piece of shrapnel from an explosion hit him and Jason always thinks that wouldn’t have happened if he’d been with them. Dick might be a coked up, cartwheeling lunatic half the time, but when it comes to fires and blowing shit up he doesn’t fuck around. 

Some of the scars are newer and from Jason, like the one on his throat right over his adam’s apple Jason gave him right after they met, when Jason attacked him after Bruce introduced them, could only think about how easily Bruce took to _him_ when he got there and thought -- well he didn’t think much at all actually, just pulled his knife out and gave Tim a little tease of what he’d do to him if he tried to take any of this away from him.

Tim though -- Tim just smiled, the kind of smile that would give any normal, sane person nightmares, grabbed the hilt of Jason’s knife and dug it in deeper, farther to the right, and said, “Right there,” his blood spilling over Jason’s blade when he flexed his throat, told him, “Maybe I’ll show you how to do it right if you let me stick around.”

There’s another one from just a few weeks ago high on Tim’s shoulder where Tim had begged him, _begged_ him, to break the skin, came so hard when Jason’s teeth ripped through him that he actually blacked out for a minute or two. Jason can still remember the taste of blood in his mouth, like warm copper pennies and the ocean. Normally Tim’s shirt covers it up, but today he’s walking around in a pair of Jason’s sweats and a white tank and everyone can see Jason’s teeth marks on him. Bruce brushes his fingers over Tim’s shoulder when he pulls him aside to ask him something and Jason spends the next half hour in his room with his hand on his dick, the rest of the day with it down Tim’s throat, buried in his ass.

There are other ones, though. Scars on Tim’s thighs and forearms that Jason’s never asked about, doesn’t want to ask about, if he’s being honest. They’ve all got their shit and most of them don’t want to talk about, but Tim catches him looking one day, catches Jason’s thumb when he slides it across the scars on his forearm and brings it to his mouth, sucks it between his lips then rolls them over and pins Jason down on the bed with his thighs, holds his wrists over his head. 

“They thought I was crazy,” he says, his eyes so fucking intense and his grip around Jason’s wrists so tight it causes Jason’s adrenaline to spike. “Tried to send me away a few times, but I always got out.” His eyes lose focus for a brief second, his grip loosening around Jason’s wrists and Jason takes that chance to roll them over, pin Tim beneath him and wrap his hand around his throat.

He feels Tim’s throat flex against his palm when he swallows, feels Tim’s dick hard against his thigh. “Gonna tell Bruce how fucked up I really am now?” He asks. 

“Baby,” Jason says. “I was fifteen when the Bishop from the church I went to as a kid paid me so he could jerk off all over my face while he called me a pretty baby whore.”

He leans down and tongues Tim’s nipple, lifts his head to bite at Tim’s bottom lip until Tim digs his nails into his arms and Jason can taste blood on his tongue. “The only fucked up people in this world,” he says, grabbing Tim’s knife from the nightstand and pushing it into his hand. “Are the ones who think they’re not.”


End file.
